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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25958980">Out on the sea (we'll be forgiven)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/girafe13/pseuds/girafe13'>girafe13</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Band of Brothers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Injury, M/M, merman/fisherman au, nothing too graphic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:41:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,700</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25958980</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/girafe13/pseuds/girafe13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After a particularly violent storm, Joe Toye finds a wounded stranger on the rocky coast where he works as a lighthouse keeper and fisherman. How could this be? The stranger is only half human...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>George Luz/Joseph Toye</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. THE STORM</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/aces_low/gifts">aces_low</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Well, here we are, almost two years after aces-low and I talked about a fisherman/mermaid AU featuring Joe Toye and George Luz. This story will be a few chapters long that I'll update frequently :) </p>
<p>Title is from Beach House. English is not my first language. Enjoy! :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">THE STORM</span>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Joe Toye loses his leg in a boat accident the day just before his twenty sixth birthday. </p>
<p>It is not something he remembers well. It happens so fast; Joe can barely recall the events. If he tries really hard, late at night just before falling asleep, he can remember as far as the collision between his fishing boat and the other, a big, imposing sailing boat. He can <em>feel </em>the swaying of the deck and his feet slipping. He can remember the smell of the air, heavy with salt and wind. </p>
<p>He remembers falling. </p>
<p>Joe often wakes up in a sweat, chest heavy with fear, grabbing onto a rusty railing that is not there. He often feels the ghost of hands on his body, and he doesn’t know if they want to save him or drown him. </p>
<p>He remembers darkness.</p>
<p>He falls between the boats, small figure torn by the enormous waves of the ocean, water grabbing at him like a hungry monster, pulling him down by his heavy clothes into the abyss. When he wakes up in the hospital, all he can feel is a dull pain, all over his body. Below the middle of his thigh, his leg is gone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>His leg is gone. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Joe grits his teeth during therapy, both physical and psychological, barely hanging on. The thought of his leg, <em>missing</em>, not attached to him, floating around somewhere in the salty water... Something about the thought of the sea claiming a part of him makes Joe clam up in the worst way possible. He can’t sleep, he can’t eat. He spends his days looking out at the ocean, unforgiving and cold.</p>
<p>He stops talking for months after the accident. Joe does not reach out to his old friends, who are desperate to speak to him, to comfort him. Joe completely shuts down, leaving the family home, much to his parent’s chagrin. He leaves with a backpack and roams the country side for awhile. He finds nothing but lonely seagulls and a lot of wet sand dunes, the weather always so stormy everywhere he goes, following him like a curse.</p>
<p>After a few weeks, he finds a place to stay at the old lighthouse of a small fisherman village up the coast. He spots the ad at the local train station, the tiny piece of paper dangling off the bulletin board catching his eye.</p>
<p>The village is looking for someone to tend the lighthouse at night, and in exchange, could live right in the imposing tower. Joe jumps at the occasion and visits the lighthouse the very same day, ever so silent. He nods at the real estate agent, shakes a few hands of relieved people who are happy to have found someone to take care of the damn place. Out of the blue, Joe has a place to stay, to call home.</p>
<p>Something about the place makes him feel like the solitude is not that bad. He feels like someone is watching over him in this huge tower with its brick walls and round layout. Maybe it is the large light at the top of the lighthouse, turning and turning, indefinitely, guiding other people home. Maybe it is the imposing structure, stairs going around and around and around…</p>
<p>Maybe it is the fact that solitude is already written in the job description, making it easier to justify why he hasn’t talked in a few months or reached out to anyone. Why he is frowning all the time, his features closed and cold.</p>
<p>He settles in and tries to remember his physical therapy. Joe tries to make it work, really, he does, but his prosthetic is always a second too slow, always reminding him of the thing he lost. Joe hides it under heavy clothing, never letting anyone close enough to have the chance to judge him. At least, in the lighthouse, no one is around except him. He can walk around in peace, knowing that his closest neighbors live twenty minutes away.</p>
<p>Joe looks around the lighthouse and nods to himself. He is better off alone.</p>
<p>Joe starts a strict life: he wakes up around five in the evening, eats his breakfast, then prepares himself for the long shift at the top of the lighthouse. Mostly, he just reads, or looks out at the sea, making sure everyone can spot the spinning light to guide them towards safety, towards home. Around three am, just as dawn would break, he gets out to sea, fishing between the gentle waves. He is mostly lucky, and, around seven, comes back to the market, gutting and preparing the fish to sell at his stand. He sells his fishes until eleven, then, tired, battled, he crashes at home, letting a deep, dreamless sleep take him.</p>
<p>When Joe begins to sell his fish to the local market, people were a little preoccupied at first by this silent giant coming with fresh barrels of the biggest fishes they had ever seen. After a few weeks, Joe becomes old news. The people of his village always nod or smile at him, kindly offering him bread, fresh fruits and other little gifts to thank him for taking care of their boats out there at sea. Joe always nods in thanks, but shuts down every attempt at conversation. He would much rather avoid the usual questions about himself and is not interested in knowing anyone new.</p>
<p>Sometimes, when he is alone on his boat, and his prosthetic starts to hurt, Joe closes his eyes and listens to the waves, to the grinding and creaking of his boat. He exhales and tries to not let the fear take over him, tries to calm his racing heart.</p>
<p>Joe remembers the silence. </p>
<p>The heaviness of the waves, swallowing him. The vastness of the ocean below him, opening up like a giant mouth, revealing obscure depths and strange creatures that are out to get him.</p>
<p>Wherever Joe remembers, the silence follows him. It weights on his shoulders, make his absent leg ache in the night, and wakes him up in the little hours of the morning. </p>
<p>The days, weeks and soon months pass without ever a slight change to his routine. Joe numbs himself, focuses on the work and the physical side of it that empties his head. He loves fishing, loves the brutal force of the sea, even after all she’s done to him. He still goes, day after day, and spends his night by the light, a looming figure watching, waiting for something to go wrong.</p>
<p>Joe Toye does not speak for about a year. He grunts, nods, blinks, but he mostly grinds his teeth and drinks too much most weekends.</p>
<p>He does eventually opens up. Gradually.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p>Joe starts to talk to his clients, especially his regulars. He makes a deal with a short blonde man named Harry Welsh, who runs the local restaurant on Main Street. He gets Harry the better-quality fishes for his fancy dishes, and, in exchange, Harry lets him eat for free at his favorite table once every two weeks, the one onlooking the ocean.</p>
<p>Joe also talks to his pharmacist, a kind man named Carwood Lipton, who always smiles and gives him his prescription drugs without asking personal questions, which Joe appreciates greatly. His husband, a dark-haired man who Joe has never see smile <em>ever,</em> is in charge of the drugstore deliveries. Joe knows Lipton’s husband also does some accounting gigs in the busy season. Joe has never been really keen on believing that Ron Speirs really is an accountant. The guy gives more of a “deadly robot” kind of vibe, in Joe’s humble opinion.</p>
<p>Finally, Joe talks to his barista, Babe. Before he goes to work, he hurries down the street to order his coffee at the local coffee shop, and Babe is always ready for him with his usual order. Of course, he has a coffee machine at home for the long nights up the lighthouse, but Joe likes the short walk and the excuse it gives him to get out of his solitude when it becomes too heavy. Don’t get him wrong, Joe would much rather spend all his days alone, but sometimes… Sometimes the silence in his head becomes a little bit too loud. On his rare days off, Joe likes to walk the short distance to actually sit down and enjoy a coffee at the coffee shop, enjoying the simple fact that’s he’s out and relaxed.</p>
<p>Except for those people, Joe keeps to himself. He hasn’t really had a hangover in two years. He runs, he works outs daily. He eats well and works tirelessly. Joe knows he is recovering, slowly but surely.</p>
<p>Joe keeps waiting for something. He does not know what, but he feels like every night spent in his tower brings him closer to something bigger than himself. At least, that is what he tells himself around four in the morning, when he feels like he is the only person awake in the universe.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On the night that it happens, Joe is trying to hurry back home after a successful day at the market. His earnings safely tucked away in his pants pocket, he starts jogging towards the coast, racing the gentle rain that starts to fall. The village becomes smaller and smaller behind him as he follows the beaten down path to his lighthouse. The weather is bound to go bad really fast this close to the ocean. Joe needs to make sure everything is in place for tonight when he wakes up, making sure that his whole focus is on the light, or he won’t be able to check on the boats.</p>
<p>He barely makes it to the lighthouse before it begins to pour down. The rain is cold and harsh on Joe’s skin, soaking him rapidly. He unlocks his door and hurries inside, grumbling under his breath. His coat is soaked through, the heavy wool pulling down at his large shoulders.</p>
<p>He steps out of his boots, hangs his coat and limps to the kitchen. His prosthetic is numb where the fake leg meets his thigh. It always hurts more when the temperature is cold and humid.</p>
<p>Grunting, he leans on the kitchen counter, looking up at the rocky coast thought the window right above the sink. The light rain is more of a downpour now, lightning piercing the sky here and there through the menacing clouds. He feels trapped in an old renaissance painting, with the dark sky hanging low above his head. Joe thinks back to the lovely morning and is still amazed by how quickly weather changes, turning a blue sky into a black one in a matter of minutes.</p>
<p>Joe lets his gaze follow the rocky coast. He loves to watch as the angry waves crash on the imposing rocks, splashing high and mighty. Joe walks to his left towards his patio door that overlooks the coast to get a better view.  His automatic light turns on outside, casting dramatic shadows in his backyard. The storm feels sudden, but Joe has a feeling it is only just beginning. He looks away, remembering his chores, when suddenly, something catches his attention.</p>
<p>From the corner of his eye, he spots something reflecting his porch light out there in the darkness. He squints, trying to see what it is. A blue shard of… something? Some stained-glass windows, maybe?</p>
<p>The light reflecting casts a beautiful blue shade over his house, softly glowing through his patio door. The light seems to intensify with each new lightning strike. Joe can’t look away. He feels a magnetic pull itching at his skin to move <em>closer</em>, to find out where the reflection comes from. Joe wants to know how it can glow so damn hard, especially in such darkness.</p>
<p>Without thinking, he opens his patio door and steps out, getting drenched once again in a matter of seconds. He closes the door behind him, walking fast under the raging waters, his skin still buzzing with curiosity. The few yards that separate his backyard from the coast suddenly seem to stretch forever, and Joe catches himself jogging to go faster, even with his leg hurting. He shivers; he left his coat inside the house, leaving him vulnerable, at the mercy of the elements.</p>
<p>Joe arrives at the rocks, and is careful not to slip, especially with his prosthetic leg. His fishing boots are heavy and familiar on his feet, but they do not allow much mobility. He climbs a few layers of rocks, and finally, he sees what is reflecting light in such a strange and fascinating manner. Joe blinks, stopping dead in his tracks.</p>
<p>It’s a fishtail.</p>
<p>But not <em>any</em> fishtail.</p>
<p>It’s a <em>huge</em> fishtail, blue and green, with a hint of yellow undertones. The scales are neatly sectioned. Joe feels like he is watching a kaleidoscope, like the scales’ shapes are changing every few seconds or so. As soon as he thinks he understands the pattern, it morphs into something different. It’s mesmerizing to say the least. The tail is lean and tall, around five feet, and ends in two pointy fins, translucid compared to the rest of the scales. They look thinner, too, folding and unfolding over the rocks where the tail lays like some remnant of habit.</p>
<p>Joe has never seen anything like it. He feels like he is dreaming, his head suddenly feeling very light. This is not a fish he recognizes. His jaw drops and he forgets all about the weather, the dangerous waves crashing around him and the sharp, pointy rocks that could kill him if he falls. The colors keep spinning and Joe keeps watching, keeps detailing every thing he sees. All he can focus on, as he holds himself up leaning over a big boulder, is the fishtail.</p>
<p>Then Joe finally lifts up his gaze to try to see if he can recognize the type of fish by its head, he immediately slips and falls, letting out an involuntary gasp.</p>
<p>A man. A man is attached to the other half of the fishtail.</p>
<p>Joe’s fingers twitch on the boulder, grasping at leverage but finding none. He can feel his pants get even more soaked.</p>
<p>Time slows down. Joe <em>knows</em> there is rain falling on his face but he can’t <em>feel</em> the water. It’s as if he is outside of his body, looking over himself and the strange creature. Heart beating wildly in his ribcage, he blinks a few times and tries to breathe normally again. His fingers are still trembling, so Joe does not attempt to get up. He sits there, a few inches away from something he can’t seem to understand, panting.</p>
<p>The man is shirtless, laying on his back, and if Joe ignores the tail starting at his hips, the stranger looks like any other human being. His hair is dark brown, and is currently plastered on his face, hiding one of his closed eyes. The man is passed out, his features in a frown. He looks feverish, dark circles under his eyes, and his skin is so pale it looks almost translucent. Joe can easily see multiple bruises on his arms and shoulders. The creature seems in pain.</p>
<p>Joe carefully looks at him and after a few moments, spots a red stain right at the stranger’s left side. Joe leans in to see better, pushing the water out of his eyes. Blood, oozing from what looks like a knife wound.</p>
<p>Joe can’t think straight, especially with the thunder rumbling in his ears, and the waves that keep crashing at his feet, wetting even more the boulders and rocks. His situation is perilous and Joe knows he must not push his luck. If he wants to act, he has to do it fast before the sea decides to swallow them both.</p>
<p>Joe is now certain of two things: one, he has no idea what the stranger is, or if he is dangerous. He could wake up and attack him, try to eat him, or worse. Joe knows nothing about this… man, or <em>why</em> he has a fishtail.</p>
<p>Two, the stranger undeniably needs help.</p>
<p>Joe briefly considers pushing him back into the ocean, but judges against it. Urging himself mentally, he grabs onto the boulder and shifts his weight, getting up with great effort. Then, walking around the stranger, he carefully pokes his shoulder with the tip of his index.</p>
<p>Nothing. His index does not fall off either. Joe takes that as a good sign.</p>
<p><em>“Alright, got no choice now, or we’ll drown on land</em>,” he thinks as the waves seem to crash even higher than before.</p>
<p>He grabs delicately under the stranger’s arms and lifts him up halfway, then drags him towards his house. The man or creature does not wake up. Joe grunts under the effort, straining, making sure that the man’s hurt side is mostly protected from the rain.</p>
<p>Joe tries to focus on his house, but his gaze keeps looking to where the man’s legs seem to <em>disappear</em> into the fishtail, right at the hips, leaving the… “human part” only at the top half of the stranger’s body. His fishtail leaves a mark in the freshly wet ground, like a trail. The whole time he is getting dragged, the man’s fishtail keeps changing colors and patterns still, mixing dark blues with purple now, blending in the night.</p>
<p>Joe is not stupid. He has seen the movies, read the books when he was a kid. He knows the name of what he is currently dragging through the mud under a frightening storm. He just hopes he is hallucinating, because admitting that <em>this</em> is real is… maddening. Joe can’t let himself think about this too much, so instead, he puts all his efforts into getting the stranger inside.</p>
<p>Joe focuses his spiralling thoughts on <em>helping someone in need</em>. With great effort, he opens his patio door and steps inside, immediately closing it behind him. Grunting and struggling, he lays the stranger on his couch in the living room. Joe opens one dim light, not wanting to wake up the stranger. The fishtail length exceeds the couch’s a few inches, but at least, the stranger is now safe inside, away from the cold winds and harsh waves.</p>
<p>Joe hurries and finds him a heavy blanket, wrapping him for warmth, and busies himself finding the first aid kit. He then sits on the coffee table in the living room, and starts to disinfect the wound. The stranger hisses, but does not wake up, even when Joe sticks a few bandages and wraps gaze around his middle part for a better coverage. The wound itself is not too bad. At least, Joe thinks it does not need any stitches. For now.</p>
<p>With the help of the dim lights of the living room and the much powerful kitchen light, Joe can see his hard work pay off as the stranger settles under his touch.  The stranger’s skin is warmer under Joe’s fingers. Joe constantly has to look away from the tail, his eyes coming back to it every moment he can. Joe almost chokes when he realizes it is still changing, now slowly turning into the deep orange of his own couch.  </p>
<p>The stranger looks better now, his features relaxed instead of twisted. His skin looks smooth, his cheeks having found back some color and his full pink lips are slightly parted in a silent snore. Joe thinks that his hair, now almost dry, is a paler shade of brown he originally thought, almost like hazelnut. Joe is suddenly struck with the thought that the man’s face looks… honest. Open. Beautiful, even. Then, Joe looks back at the stranger’s fishtail, now swirling red and orange patterns, matching his couch.</p>
<p>He shakes his head, taking a few steps back. Joe needs to look after the lighthouse in a few hours. He need sleep, but does not want to leave the stranger alone. Glancing at the fishtail, ever so present and impossible to ignore, Joe closes his eyes and tries to keep calm, tries to rationalize. When he opens them up, the fishtail is still there, almost taunting him, climbing to the stranger’s hips and fading into his skin.</p>
<p>Joe sighs. The silence is only broken by the rain outside and the howling winds. Maybe there is a perfectly reasonable explanation to all of this. Maybe Joe is dreaming. Maybe the stranger is actually pulling a prank on him. Maybe none of this is real. Whatever the case may be, Joe can’t have any answers until the stranger wakes up.</p>
<p>“<em>What the hell? What the fuck?</em>” he thinks, sitting down in the sofa that matches his couch, suddenly drained from all strength.</p>
<p>The sofa sinks in, pulling him down. Joe tries to keep his eyes on the stranger, not wanting to let his guard down, not for one moment, but succumbs to sleep soon after, his chin rolling on his torso. The adrenaline leaves his system and he is left exhausted, the storm still raging outside, a wounded man with a fishtail instead of legs sleeping on his couch.</p>
<p>He dreams of the day he lost his leg and almost drowned, only this time, from the bottom of the ocean, someone comes up to save him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. GEORGE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">CHAPTER 2: GEORGE</span>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>Joe wakes up abruptly, practically jumping out of his seat. He remembers everything in one go: the stranger, the storm, the… The <em>fishtail</em> that kept changing colors…</p><p>Joe looks up when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He recoils in his sofa, trying to get as far away possible as the man in front of him.</p><p>“Woha there, tiger,” the stranger says, raising one hand in front of him, palm towards Joe in a reassuring gesture.</p><p>Joe looks down to see that the stranger's other hand is currently busy holding the blanket he used last night to keep him warm. It wraps around his hips, hugging him tight. Looking at the ground, Joe can see two feet poking out of the blanket. Human feet.</p><p>The stranger takes a step back so that Joe can breathe. Joe immediately gets up, grunting, trying to make sense of everything and failing miserably.</p><p>“What time is it?” he asks, voice rough with sleep.</p><p>“I don’t know, but some noise woke me up,” the man says.</p><p>Joe recognizes immediately his alarm clock blaring in his room. It is time for him to go to work, to watch over the light. Disoriented, Joe tries to focus is foggy mind. He steps around the stranger, heading for his room.</p><p>“Stay there,” he grumbles, and the stranger nods.</p><p>He goes into his room to turn off his alarm clock. Joe then closes his eyes, sighing. He rakes a hand in his short dark hair a few times, breathing in and out slowly. It is very hard to make any sense of what is happening, but if he can at least calm his nerves, he should be able to talk to the stranger. Joe has some long hours in front of him, but he figures he can watch the light <em>and</em> question the man in his living room. Surely, he can give him some answers. Surely, he will explain everything. Right?</p><p>Outside, the storm has finally let down, the last rays of the setting sun lighting up everything in his room in a warm glow. Joe looks around, and nods to himself. He can do this, goddamnit.</p><p>Walking back to the living room, Joe gazes up at the stranger, his heart skipping a few beats. A hundred questions spiral in Joe's mind. Who is he? Where does he come from?</p><p>
  <em>And where, for the love of God, is his fishtail? </em>
</p><p>The stranger is standing on two legs, right in front of him, waiting. Joe realizes now that the man is completely naked, covered only by the blanket he gave him earlier. He is currently hunched over, curiously looking at his trinkets and photos on one of the side tables. </p><p>The man is short, but built: his arms and back are visibly muscular. Joe thinks of the sailors he meets at the dock everyday or so. His skin is pale and his eyes are as brown as his hair, with, Joe observes when the stranger turns to him, a hint of green.</p><p>A tentative smile stretches the stranger's lips when he sees Joe looking at him. Joe suddenly realizes that the man is beautiful, eyes wrinkling with playfulness, cheeks flushed. He looks happy, alive, and especially <em>human</em>.</p><p>“What’s your name?” Joe asks, unnerved by the silence.</p><p>“George,” simply answers the man. “Where am I? Who are you?”</p><p>Joe frowns. “I was about to ask the same damn thing.”</p><p>“Yes, of course. I’m the one waking up naked in a stranger’s house, but you’re the one asking questions,” George nods, sarcasm dripping from his voice.  </p><p>Joe stays silent. Could it be that the man is lying to him? Or that he maybe really does not remember anything? He walks past George, to the kitchen, and starts a pot of coffee. He’s going to need it if he wants to survive the night. Joe already feels a headache coming over him. </p><p>“Sit down,” he says to George from over his shoulder.</p><p>George rolls his eyes, walks to the kitchen table and sits with a sigh. Joe keeps an eye on his legs, but nothing happens. His knees bend, the blanket covers him, and that’s it. Nothing to see here.</p><p>So <em>why</em> can’t Joe look away? Joe keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the cameras to appear and to laugh at how stupid he was for believing the prank. Because, really, what else could it be? Was this man <em>ever</em> half human?</p><p>Joe, waiting for his coffee machine to turn on completely, suddenly remembers something. His head snaps to the backyard, where branches and other various debris surround his patio. The storm was rough, but not rough enough to completely erase the traces. There, through his window, he can clearly see the trail the fishtail left when he was dragging George’s body to the lighthouse. Relief floods his veins, but Joe tries to hide his emotions.</p><p>He is not crazy. He saw what he saw, although it is unbelievable. He clears his throat and turns around, looking at the floor.</p><p>“You… I found you, during the storm out there alone, on the big rocks. Looks like you were hurt. I carried you here and fixed you up, but then I fell asleep,” he says, which is, in a way, the truth.</p><p>George blinks up, then reaches instinctively for his bandages. While he inspects Joe's hard work, Joe peeks at his torso. Human as can be. George has very muscular arms for his stature, his biceps and pecks twitching as he pokes at his ribs, hissing. Joe looks away, his head spinning.</p><p>“You should leave that alone,” grunts Joe, turning around once more to pour himself some coffee.</p><p>After a second of consideration, Joe pulls another mug from his cabinet.</p><p>Not one of his good mugs, but Joe is trying very hard, here. </p><p>“Well, all I remember is being on a boat… Then the storm hit us pretty bad. I think I fell overboard…” George says, still poking at his side.</p><p>Joe sits down with him, handing him the cup. George looks at him, letting go of his wound. When he grabs the cup, he grazes Joe’s fingers.</p><p>“In any case, thank you for saving me,” George says, smiling fully. “I think I owe you my life. Thank you.”</p><p>Joe feels his cheek heat up and simply retreats his hand without a word, squeezing his cup with more strength than necessary. George’s smile brings new life to his face, like the setting sun shining on the sea, coloring the waves with new warm oranges and reds.</p><p>George does not stop smiling, and he looks so radiant, so honest, Joe has to look away.</p><p>“What else do you remember?” Joe finally asks, still looking everywhere except at George.</p><p>“Not much… Actually, I don’t remember anything else,” says George under his breath, his tone suddenly somber. “Just my name. And the storm.”</p><p>A silence falls on both of them. Joe finishes his coffee, tries to think. If George says he does not remember anything, how can Joe be certain he is not simply covering his tracks? A mer… <em>Someone</em> like George wouldn’t want to be found by anyone.</p><p>Joe sighs. If there is no family to drive him to, or people that are looking for him, what can he do? Leave the poor man outside? Joe makes a swift decision.</p><p>“Follow me, I’ll lend you some clothes, he says, leaving his coffee mug on the counter.</p><p>George smiles again, standing up. The blanket almost falls to the ground, but George catches it at the last second. Joe looks away, feeling his cheeks heat. </p><p>“Thank you… Uhm. Sorry. What's your name, by the way?”</p><p>Joe focuses on George’s eyes, trying to forget that damn smile. He raises his arm across the table, goes for a handshake.</p><p>“I’m Joe. Joe Toye.”</p><p>George shakes his hand with enthusiasm. His palm is strangely cold under Joe’s touch. Cold and fresh, like the sea after a storm.</p><p>“Very nice to meet you Joe. Again, thank you for everything.”</p><p>Joe nods, suddenly struck by the fact that he just let a stranger in his house. He never would have thought, in a million years, that he would let someone in the lighthouse, yet here they are, shaking hands like good old friends.</p><p>Joe is puzzled by the fact that is does not annoy him as much as it should.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p>“Uhm… These might be too large, but...” trails off Joe while handing George some of his clothes.</p><p>“Joe, honestly, look at me. I’ll take anything,” George laughs while taking the clothes away from Joe.</p><p>Joe nods, but he has no doubt that George will float in his clothes. George is at least one feet shorter than Joe, and even if he is built, there’s so much that muscle can do.</p><p>George looks around. “Bathroom?”</p><p>Joe points him in the right direction. “When you’re done, meet me up there. I’ll be working.”</p><p>“Up… Where?”</p><p>Joe sighs and nods his head towards the ceiling. “With the light.”</p><p>George smiles. “Right, of course. See you then.”</p><p>Joe grabs his usual stuff (coffee, book, CD of the day) and climbs the stairs one by one, weary of his prosthetic leg. Even though he runs and lifts weights, it always seems a hard task to climb up all the way up to the light. He arrives, short breath escaping his lips, and crashes in his favorite chairs he got up just for this.</p><p>Up in the small circular room there is another chair, mostly used for lounging, a small round table, a mini fridge and about a dozen books, messily piled up here and there. Straining, he gets back up on his feet and makes the necessary adjustments so that the light shines bright and turns on itself without any creaks or malfunctions. Joe then sighs and sits back down, grabbing at one of the books he started yesterday.</p><p>He can’t seem to focus on any words, his ears straining to hear the characteristic sounds of someone going up the stairs. Finally, he hears George climbing, muttering more and more curses under his breath as he goes up. Joe smirks, but hides it behind his book.</p><p>“What… The fuck… This… Is so high…” pants George when he arrives at the top, crashing down the other chair beside Joe.</p><p>Joe hides his smirk before putting down his book on the table between them.</p><p>“It’s not that high,” he says innocently, and George scoffs.</p><p>“Yeah, well, fuck me, then,” he answers without any malice.</p><p>Joe, from the corner of his eye, watches George as he takes his surroundings in.</p><p>“Woha, this is so cool,” George breathes out after a few minutes, standing up with a buzzing energy, walking around the room, taking in the view. “You really do this ever night?”</p><p>Joe nods. George whistles low. “Wow. Impressive.”</p><p>For some reason, he thought that George would not get it. Few people do. Why live in solitude, working the night shift, away from civilisation? It was just one of these jobs that left people confused as to why someone would choose to do that. The fact that George does not ask him why or look at him with pity settles something in Joe's stomach.</p><p>“Must be lonely,” remarks George, still looking at the horizon.</p><p>Joe looks up at his face, waiting to find sadness, but only seeing George seemingly lost in his thoughts. It’s now dark outside and Joe can see George’s reflection in the glass, his eyes looking somewhere far beyond the ocean. His smile has faded completely. He looks lost, small, compared to the vibrant energy he seemed to emit a few minutes ago.</p><p>Joe coughs in the silence. “Not that bad.”</p><p>George snaps out of his reverie, breathing in.</p><p>“Right, sorry, sorry” he says sheepishly as he turns to face Joe. "I almost remembered something there."</p><p>Joe can finally take a good look at him. George is barefoot, but Joe can only see the very top of his toes, since the pants he gave George fall well over his ankles. He can see George has rolled the rim in an effort to walk without tripping. His wool sweater his a little better since it is one of Joe’s old ones, blue matching with the beige of the pants. The fabric looks soft after all these years of wearing. George smiles at Joe, his brown messy hair flopping down on his forehead.</p><p>Seeing George wearing his clothes makes something twist in Joe's lower belly, a pleasant twist that Joe can't really begin to understand. He pushes the feeling away and sits straighter. Joe has to clear his mind, once and for all. He has always been bad with secrets.</p><p>He motions to George to the other chair beside him. George flops down and looks expectedly at Joe.</p><p>“I need to ask you something. I need to know the truth,” Joe says, his voice a rough whisper.</p><p>The light above them turns and turns, casting crazy shadows on the walls now that the sun is set. George frowns.</p><p>“I’ll do my best, but as you know, I don’t remember anything…”</p><p>Joe sighs. He knows George is trying to protect himself, but he thinks back at the tracks his fishtail left in his backyard. He thinks back at the colors, the shifting patterns. While George was climbing the stairs, Joe had convinced himself. He needs to know he’s not crazy. Joe needs to know the truth. </p><p>Joe understands why George didn't tell him anything. Who knows how people would react to such a revelation. But Joe is not like most people. He needs George to know that he is safe with him. That whatever happens, Joe will protect George’s secret, that he won’t go alert the press or anything.</p><p>He knows what it is like to live with a secret. His prosthetic safely hidden by his pant leg reminds him of that every second of his life.</p><p>“George. Are you…” Joe starts, but suddenly stops, lost for words.</p><p>A mermaid? A merman? A fish? A freakin’ <em>alien</em>?</p><p>George just keeps patiently waiting for him to speak. He does not try to finish his sentence, simply waits. Now that Joe can see him closer, he spots twirls of green into his brown eyes, just like before.</p><p>“Are you… human?” Joe settles for, because he really can’t bring himself to ask something else.</p><p>George’s face stays very still for a moment. He looks deeply into Joe's eyes, thinking.</p><p>Then, he smiles.</p><p>Joe is suddenly confronted by the fact that the answer is no, definitely, George is not human. The green swirls in his eyes are now moving around in his irises. The swirls look like smoke, lazily circling the dilated pupils, who are now so black that they seem mate. Hypnotized, Joe can’t look away. He follows the colors and faintly registers that some of George teeth are so sharp, sharper than they should be, canines reminding him of shark teeth, ready to devour their prey. His brown messy hair seem to float around his head, just like it would underwater. His skin looks translucid, reflecting the light above their heads. </p><p>The changes are subtle, but undeniable. Joe can’t seem to breathe out, air stuck in his throat.</p><p><em>“How fucking stupid of me to confront him at the top of the tower,”</em> suddenly thinks Joe, angry at himself. <em>“Can’t even run away without tripping and breaking my damn neck.”</em></p><p>George sticks out his tongue, pink as can be, and licks his lips. His pointy teeth seem to grow with every passing second.</p><p>“No,” George answers, whispering. “I am not human.”</p><p>His voice seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It snaps Joe out of his head. Joe abruptly gets up and takes a few clumsy steps back, knocking down the table. His mug falls and shatters on the floor.</p><p>“You… Y-Are you gonna hurt me?” Joe asks, his gravely voice even lower than usual. </p><p>He knows what happens next: the unsuspecting sailor, dragged to his death in the depths of the sea. Joe thinks of his accident, but instead of emerging back to the surface, he drowns, carried by George at the bottom of the sea. His hands are trembling, but he puts on a brave face. If he is going down, he is not going down without a fight. </p><p>George blinks, and suddenly, his teeth are normal again, his eyes as brown as can be. He looks tired, vulnerable, his hair falling down around his face.</p><p>“No, Joe. I am not. I… I may not be human, but I’m not a monster," he says, looking away frowning. </p><p>Joe breathes out, still in shock of what he just saw. He tries to get a grip of his trembling fingers. </p><p>“What are you, then?” he asks, his voice rough with fear and curiosity.</p><p>George looks up at him, crossing his legs like he is simply chatting with an old friend, relaxing in the chair.</p><p>“I have many names. I believe you might know my kind as mermaids… Although I guess that would make me a merman,” he says casually, and Joe just about loses his mind.</p><p>“Okay, that’s it,” he says, huffing. “You’re fucking with me, right? Did someone put you up to this? The special effects were very nice, but man, there is <em>no such thing</em> as a merman.”</p><p>George raises one eyebrow. He almost looks amused. “Oh really?”</p><p>“What happened to your tail, then, uh?” asks Joe, because he really is dying to know. “What, it just disappeared?”</p><p>“I can take many forms. When I’m out of the water for a while, I adapt. It has been a while, though, since I came on land,” answers George, wiggling his toes. “I think it took longer this time.”</p><p>Joe’s head is spinning. “Okay… Okay, let’s pretend for a minute you are what you say you are. Why are you here? What happened? And don’t tell me you were on a boat, I swear, I’ll-”</p><p>George’s lips form a thin line before he answers. He seems to evaluate the risk of telling Joe, but speaks again almost immediately. </p><p>“Got caught in a fishing net. I got hurt on a piece of metal trying to wriggle out. I was very dizzy and, with the storm, ended up passing out swimming. I guess I washed up on the rocks, where you found me.”</p><p>He scratches at his head. “I really don’t remember anything before that, though… That much is the truth.”</p><p>Joe takes a few tentative steps towards George. Above their heads, the light keeps turning, undisturbed. Joe almost envies the light, how solitary and unbothered by this crazy situation it is. </p><p>“I really though you hadn’t seen me in my other form… Thought I could sneak past you and maybe escape when you were asleep,” confesses George, looking at the ground.</p><p>Joe swallows, heart racing. “What made you stay?”</p><p>George shrugs. “I don’t remember anything… I don’t know if somebody’s looking for me, or if I have some sort of family… I don’t want to go back into the ocean just yet. I am completely lost. Thought I’d take a few days and think about my next move.”</p><p>Joe tries to make sense of all this new information. At least, he knows now that his instincts were right. George seems honest enough. Still, something gnaws at him, maybe the last strings of logic left in his brain.</p><p>“I’m not saying I'm entirely convinced, but… If you are what you say you are, don’t worry, I’m not gonna say anything to anyone,” Joe grunts, looking at his feet. He sees the pieces of his mug on the ground.</p><p>What a shame, it was one of his good ones. </p><p>“Of course not, or else I’ll eat you up and disappear into the ocean,” says George, deadpan.</p><p>Joe rolls his eyes, still uneasy. He slowly sits down besides George, but can’t bring himself to look at his eyes, or mouth, for all that matter. He shivers.</p><p>“Hey, I was just joking,” George says, laughing under his breath. “We don’t eat humans. Way too many bones.”</p><p>Joe looks up at that, and sees that George has a twinkle in his eyes. He is clearly messing with him, trying to diffuse the tension, which Joe is grateful for. They stare at each other in silence for a few minutes, Joe still processing all that happened in such a short period of time.</p><p>“I know it’s a lot, but uh… For what it's worth, I think you’re taking it very well,” remarks George, matter of factly. “Take all the time you need.”</p><p>He turns away and goes for the books at his feet, reading the titles one by one.</p><p>Joe breathes out. George looks and <em>feels</em> completely human, his warm brown eyes and goofy grin making him appear like any other guy in his mid twenties Joe would see on the street, or at the market.</p><p>Joe is still not entirely sure that this is not a dream, or an hallucination, but for now, he decides to go for it, to really believe. He knows he saw the fishtail, after all, saw the fangs and the freaky eye tricks. Maybe he <em>is</em> going crazy, but he feels completely sane.</p><p>Which might be his way of going crazy.</p><p>Joe sighs. There is no way out of this one. He just has to trust.</p><p>“You could help me, then,” Joe suggests without thinking too much about it. “You could come with me and fish. And take care of the lighthouse. Y'know, until you figure out what you want to do.”</p><p>George looks up from the two books he is currently holding in his hands.</p><p>“You… You would do that? You would let me stay here?” he asks, surprised.</p><p>Joe frowns in confusion. Wasn’t it already clear? No way he would let George go into the town without him. Who knows who could find out George’s true nature and want to exploit him in all sorts of disgusting ways? He would much rather keep George close to him, at least until he recovers from his wound.</p><p>George looks at him like it’s the first time he sees him.</p><p>“You know, for a grumpy lonely sailor, you have a big heart,” says George, smirking as Joe’s cheeks flush with red.</p><p>“Whatever,” Joe mumbles, carefully picking up the broken mug pieces to occupy his hands.</p><p>George’s laugh echoes in the lighthouse. There, isolated from the rest of the town, the light turns and turns, watching over them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Comments and kudos are truly, deeply appreciated. Thank you for reading! &lt;3</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. THE TOWN</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In my real, everyday life, I'm a teacher. Since last week was the first school week, I've been crazy busy. Now that everything is pretty much settled, I should be able to update every week or so. Thank you so much for reading and for your patience &lt;333 I hope you enjoy this chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">CHAPTER 3: THE TOWN</span>
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</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>At around four in the morning, just as the sun rises, Joe decides to take the day off. He has enough money to survive long enough without fishing, and he wants to make sure George is comfortable in his new temporary home.</p><p>“Let’s get some more sleep, we’ll go to town later. We’ll pretend you’re a friend of mine, visiting,” suggests Joe as they make their way down the tower.</p><p>“Alright with me,” nods George, bouncing more or less from step to step.</p><p>Joe has to concentrate as he climbs down. Sweat starts to break on his back. He can’t let George see his leg, so he keeps his focus, and when he finally arrives at the last step, he lets out a sigh.</p><p>The lighthouse has a guest bedroom, but Joe mostly uses it for storage. There is a camp bed and an old mattress with wrinkled sheets. Joe frowns at the humid smell coming from the ancient looking covers.</p><p>“Uhm… How ‘bout you sleep on the couch for now,” he says, guiding George back to the living room.</p><p>“Ah… Where it all started,” jokes George, making himself comfortable.</p><p>He strips down to nothing while Joe quickly looks away. Still without looking, Joe hands him a pillow and some covers. Then, without a word, he goes to his room and closes the door behind him.</p><p>“Goodnight, Joe!” he hears from the living room. He can practically see the shit-eating grin on George’s face through the door.</p><p>Joe rolls his eyes. Not only Joe rescued a fucking <em>merman</em>, he had to be the cheekiest, most talkative merman of the whole ocean. During his whole shift, George did not stop talking for one second, asking him all sorts of questions, from how the lighthouse worked to what was his favorite kind of peanut butter.</p><p>“Mine’s crunchy,” George had said, while Joe listened, completely stunned.</p><p>George also kept asking him more personal questions about his friends, his family. Joe would answer in the most succinct ways. It did not discourage George, who changed tactics and began to crack some jokes (and laughing before even finishing most of them).</p><p>Joe prepares for bed, happy to have found relative silence in solitude. He lies down and rolls around in his bed, trying to find sleep. When he does, his last though is for the ocean depth, silent and seemingly always calling to him.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p>They walk into town around two in the afternoon. Joe grits his teeth the entire walk there, trying to breathe in deep through his nose while George seems more preoccupied with the trees he sees around him to be worrying about anything else.  </p><p>“Holy shit, they’re so huge!” he exclaims, craning his neck. “Forgot how tall they were.”</p><p>“Hey, I have a question,” Joe asks, his tone flat, “Is there something in the air that makes your kind talk so damn much? Or is that just you?”</p><p>George blinks, effectively shutting up, and bursts out laughing. Joe grumbles and walks faster, forgetting all about his worries. He just wants to go back home fast and hide George until they figure out the next move.</p><p>“Oh my god, you’re actually funny, too,” George says, catching up behind him.</p><p>“Wasn’t trying to be,” mutters Joe under his breath.</p><p>They arrive shortly after that, Joe stopping by the pharmacy first. George needs better bandages and Joe is almost out of rubbing alcohol. The town itself is slowly winding down from the dinner time rush, few people here and there nodding to Joe while hurrying back to work.  </p><p>George goes for the door, but Joe stops him.</p><p>“Hey. No funny business in there, alright? Keep a low profile and don’t say anything,” he whispers, while George rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Relax, it’s all good,” George answers, before stepping up and pushing the door of the pharmacy.</p><p>It stays closed. George frowns, while Joe steps back, crossing his arms.</p><p>“What the hell, did they change doors while I was underwater?” Joe hears George whispers while battling with the door.  </p><p>After awhile, Joe snickers, unable to contain himself.</p><p>“You have to pull,” he says, grinning. </p><p>George looks back, his face unreadable. He pulls, still looking Joe dead in the eye.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>The characteristic sound of the bell welcomes them inside. Joe walks around and gathers the things he needs while George roams the aisles without a clear goal in mind. He keeps appearing out of the blue, putting things in Joe’s basket. Joe puts back the Spiderman band aids, but he keeps the chocolate bars.</p><p>When they arrive at the checkout, Carwood Lipton himself is there, leaning on the counter, his neatly combed blonde hair shining under the neon. His kind face lights up when he recognizes Joe. Carwood smiles pleasantly as he approaches, wrinkling his old scar right under his eye.</p><p>“Hey Toye,” he greets him with a nod, “Missed you at the market today.”</p><p>He starts ringing up his things. George appears right at Joe’s side the next second with yet another useless thing in his hands. This time, Joe is too slow to stop him, and Lipton rings the blowing bubbles from the kid’s section without comment. Joe squints at George, who looks away innocently.</p><p>“Hey Lipton. Yeah, decided to take a day off,” Joe says, glaring some more at George.</p><p>“Right, good for you. And who’s your friend, here? I don’t think I’ve seen you in town before,” Lipton says, putting all Joe’s things in a bag.</p><p>“I’m George,” George answers, smiling. “Nice to meet you.”</p><p>“George, nice to meet you too,” says Lipton, extending his hand for George to shake.</p><p>Before George can shake his hand, a voice speaks up from behind Lipton.</p><p>“Customers must wear shoes,” Ron Speirs says, appearing from God knows where, a shadow behind his husband.</p><p>“Oh, hey, Ron,” says Lipton, completely unbothered by the sudden appearance. “What do you mean?”</p><p>Ron steps out completely from the darkness of the back room and points at George’s feet. Joe’s stomach twists.</p><p>George is not wearing any shoes. His toes wiggle under all this attention. George looks down at his own feet, puzzled.</p><p>“Oh, would you look at that,” he says casually, and Joe fights the urge to facepalm.</p><p>“Yeah, he forgot a bunch of stuff in his luggage,” quickly lies Joe. “My shoes didn’t fit him, so…”</p><p>Lipton shakes his head. “What a shame. I’m sure you can find some good shoes at Julian’s store.”</p><p>Ron says nothing, his piercing gaze right on George’s face. George holds his gaze and shrugs.</p><p>“I often forget things, it’s true. What can I say, nobody’s perfect,” he easily adds, winking at Ron.</p><p>Joe almost chokes on nothing. They have to get the hell out of there, or Ron will kill them both with his bare hands.</p><p>“Well, it was nice seeing you,” Joe says, pushing cash in Lipton’s hands and taking his bags in a hurry.</p><p>George follows him closely. “It was nice to meet you both,” he shouts behind his shoulder while Joe makes a beeline for the door.</p><p>“Likewise,” says Lipton right before they leave. “Hey Joe, you forgot your chan-“</p><p>Joe is already halfway through the door and does not stop, walking fast towards the only clothing store of the whole town.</p><p>“Slow down, I’m not wearing shoes, remember?” George shouts behind Joe.</p><p>He practically has to run to catch up. Joe does not slow down until he is right under the shop sign. He sees George arrive, hair messier than usual, if possible.</p><p>Joe sighs and pulls the door open, making his way straight for the shoe section of the clothing store. George still follows him like his shadow, panting lightly after the little jog.</p><p>“Lovely people, especially Ron,” comments George a few moments after catching his breath.</p><p>Joe stares at him wordlessly, handing him a pair of nines.</p><p>“I mean, I really dig the serial killer befriending his overly nice co-worker,” adds George, sitting down to try the shoes.</p><p>“Husband,” corrects Joe, heading for the shirts. “They’re husbands, actually.”</p><p>“Husb- <em>what? </em>That’s actually better,” exclaims George, laughing in disbelief.  </p><p>They end up buying a few shirts and pants, along with the shoes George tried and a sturdy coat. Joe also buys George everything he needs to work on the fishing boat, gloves, rainboots and overalls. George chats with Julian at the cash and Joe has to drag him out again by the collar.</p><p>It’s like George was put on this planet to make friends. He is so friendly, laughing and chatting like he knows these people, like he <em>personally</em> knows them. It has taken Joe years to open up, and seeing George doing so freely makes him revaluate what he thought was true. That maybe, opening up to people is not that bad.</p><p>Joe then bumps into a rack of clothes and hears his prosthetic clunk against the metallic base. A familiar ache wakes difficult memories.</p><p>He sighs. Right, opening up might not be that easy after all.</p><p> </p><p>****</p><p>They finish their trip in the coffee shop, Joe low on grinded beans and sugar. Babe is behind the counter as usual, and smiles warmly at Joe as he enters.</p><p>“Hey Joe, long time no see!” the ginger says in greeting.</p><p>Joe freezes. At the counter, hunched over a medical book is the small town’s only doctor, Eugene Roe. Black hair messy, dark circles under his eyes, Roe seems deeply focused on his readings and pays no attention to Joe or George.</p><p>Eugene Roe is the only person that knows that Joe has a prosthetic leg. Having someone who could potentially reveal his secret appear outside of the doctor's office makes Joe’s stomach twist. He fights the urge to vomit and, instead, approaches the counter like nothing is wrong.</p><p>“Hi, Babe. I’ll have a bag of the usual coffee beans, and whatever he’ll have to go,” he says, pointing to George behind his shoulder.</p><p>Hearing his voice so close, Roe turns slowly towards him.</p><p>“Hi, Mr. Toye,” he says, nodding politely. “How is everything?”</p><p>Roe moved to the town from the Louisiana heat a few years back, and hearing his southern drawl is always a pleasant surprise to Joe.</p><p>“It’s going fine, thank you,” answers Joe, trying to breathe in deeply to chase away his anxiety.</p><p>“What are you reading?” asks George, peeking under Joe’s elbow.</p><p>Roe raises his eyebrows, surprised at his sudden appearance. “Articles about brain surgery. Interested?”</p><p>George shakes his head, laughing. “Nope, I'm good. I’m George by the way, Joe’s friend. I’m visiting for a couple of days.”</p><p>Eugene nods again. “Nice to meet you. I’m Eugene Roe, and this is Edward Heffron.”</p><p>Babe scoffs, still busy shoveling Joe’s order in a bag.</p><p>“Nobody calls me Edward. Only the nuns… Aw, hell, just call me Babe,” he adds, smiling at George.</p><p>Roe half-smiles. “Right. Well, Edward here is the best barista in town, so make sure to stop by if you need a coffee. Lord knows I’m always here for a refill…”</p><p>Joe shifts his gaze to where an impressive pile of dirty coffee cups is standing precariously, balancing in an impossible angle, right beside the doctor. He looks back at Roe to comment, but the doctor is busy looking at Babe, a soft expression on his face. Joe thinks that maybe the coffee is not the only reason why Roe comes at the coffee shop, but does not say anything else.</p><p>“I’ll make sure to do so,” easily answers George. “In fact, for my order to go, surprise me,” he says to Babe, who smirks.</p><p>“Oh boy," says Roe at the same time Babe says "You like sugar?”</p><p>They get out of the coffee shop a short while after that, George with an extra whip cream chocolate mocha monstrosity and Joe with his bags of coffee beans and a simple black coffee. They don’t even take two steps outside that Joe hears someone shouting his name.</p><p>“<em>What now,</em>” he thinks, grumpy as ever.</p><p>He was ready to go home with George when Harry Welsh comes bouncing down the street, his short frizzy hair catching the rare sunlight. He waves at Joe who waves back, and, sighing, waits for the restaurant owner to catch up.</p><p>“Hey Joe! You weren’t at the restaurant, yesterday…” says Harry, punching lightly Joe on the shoulder. “We were wondering where you were!”</p><p>Joe suddenl remembers. He had a reservation, but with all that had happened…</p><p>“Sorry, Harry. Can I push it back? Forgot I had a friend visiting…” he says, motioning with his head towards George, who is currently gulping down his sugary beverage.</p><p>“Oh, I see! Well, maybe you guys could come tonight? I know Babe would love to replace you like last time at the lighthouse. What do you say?” says Harry, his enthusiastic smile revealing his gap tooth. His cheery attitude is almost contagious.</p><p>“I’m not sure-“ begins Joe, at the same time George cuts him and says “We’d love to!”</p><p>Harry grins. “Great. I’ll keep your table open for around seven, good? And don’t worry, I was going in, I’ll relay the message to Babe.”</p><p>He bumps Joe on the shoulder once more before stepping around them.</p><p>“Nice to meet you, by the way!” he says to George before disappearing into the coffee shop.</p><p>Joe blinks a few times while George throws away his mocha in the nearest bin. “Phew. Restaurant. Sounds fun!”</p><p>Joe can see he is buzzing with energy, the sugar and the caffeine amplifying his already very energic normal self. Joe rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Yeah, it’s alright.”</p><p>It's now George's turn to roll his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p>They make their way back to the lighthouse slowly, bags in hand. The sun disappears behind clouds, making place for a gloomy afternoon. </p><p>“Hey, why do you stay alone all day if you’re friends with everyone here?” George asks while walking.</p><p>“They’re not my friends,” says Joe automatically, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.</p><p>The bags around his wrists swing with each step he takes. George gives him a puzzled look.</p><p>“Not your friends? Don’t you find it so weird then that everyone in this town seem to like you?” George asks, innocently looking at Joe.</p><p>Joe shrugs. “They’re just being polite. I’m the guy that makes sure they don’t die out there at sea. They feel obligated.”</p><p>“You really think so? You really think that people would be nice to you, and then turn around and… What, badmouth you?” George frowns.</p><p>Joe shrugs again, this time, remaining silent. George hums.</p><p>“How come you ended up here anyway? You never told me,” George asks after a few minutes.</p><p>They still have ten minutes of walking ahead of them, but Joe wishes he was already home, wishes that George never came into his life, wishes that everyone would leave him alone.</p><p>He also wishes that George would stop asking him question, because every time he does so, for some reason, Joe has a hard time ignoring it. He keeps talking and opening himself up, and it’s so easy with George, it scares Joe a little.</p><p>“I had… an accident. I left home and found this job,” he answers, looking straight ahead.</p><p>“What kind of accident?” George curiously asks.</p><p>It’s the <em>last</em> thing Joe wants to talk about. He sighs, frustrated that George can’t seem to let go, can’t or maybe won’t recognize the signs that Joe does not want to explain himself.</p><p>“You know what, George? I’m fed up by your questions. You’re a fucking merman with amnesia, and I haven’t asked <em>you</em> a single question about... About how you live, or how it is even possible that you <em>exist</em>,” shouts Joe, just as he can spot the lighthouse in the distance.</p><p>George raises his eyebrows. His smile fades away. Joe hates himself for counting that as a victory.</p><p>“Uhm… Joe, I’m sorry if I…”</p><p>“You know what? It’s your turn to give me some fucking answers,” continues Joe, lashing out.</p><p>Beside him, George stays silent. Joe sighs again as he finally lets the sheer frustration of his impossible situation wash over him.</p><p>“You know how the human world works, you know about money, coffee, clothes and <em>trees</em> and… Something tells me you’re not that amnesic, or else you wouldn’t know about all that stuff!”</p><p>Joe looks at George and catches him grimacing. Joe slowly shakes his head.</p><p>“You lied to me, George. You have some explaining to do.”</p><p>“You know what, fine!” suddenly exclaims George, reaching the lighthouse first, his steps suddenly fast and purposeful. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Quit yapping already, Joe. I was just trying to know you a little better, that’s all.”</p><p>Joe stops dead in his tracks right at his front porch. George pushes the door they left unlocked, and walks in.</p><p>“I was wondering why you were so alone, but I'm beginning to understand why,” George says, his tone, for the first time, very cold and distant.</p><p>Joe is left alone outside his own home, bags in hand, shoulders down.</p><p>“Well at least, I’m not a liar,” he shoots back, but he feels no gratification when he hears George scoff, no sense of pride.</p><p>Instead, he feels his cheeks color in shame and he can’t shake the strong and unwelcomed feeling of guilt building up in his chest.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, what did you think? Comments and kudos make my day xxo Thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. THE TRUTH</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <span class="u">CHAPTER 4: THE TRUTH</span> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>George is not in the house when Joe finally steps in. He can see George’s newly acquired shoes discarded close to the kitchen table. Joe does not remove his coat, only puts down the shopping bags and takes a few steps, feeling an unusual breeze on his face.</p><p>The glass door to his backyard is open, letting the cool air in. Joe spots George walking towards the rocks, right where he found him a few days ago. Joe hurries to catch up with him, limping through the mud and reaching George just as he sits down on one of the boulders overlooking the troubled ocean.</p><p>The sound of the waves crashing on the rocks usually soothes Joe, but seeing George’s closed off expression does nothing to appease him. He sits down besides George, waiting in silence for him to open up.</p><p>“It’s true, I’ve lied to you,” says George, looking in the distance. “I’ve lied to you to protect you.”</p><p>Joe frowns. “Protect me from what?”</p><p>“My kind. Some of them would not like me being here. The less you knew, the better.”</p><p>George scoffs, still looking at the waves. “I guess it’s too late for that now.”</p><p>Joe shivers. George looks distant, like the things he is about to say pains him. Joe almost feels bad for him, but remembers that the situation he is in is stupidly <em>crazy</em>, and he wants some answers.</p><p>“I was born in the ocean, not far from here. We try to keep contact with the human world, but less and less during the last hundred years or so. Too dangerous. Then, some of our own had more… Radical ideas.”</p><p>George sighs.</p><p>“When my kind decided to cut all ties, some of us were not okay with the decision…So, we left,” he says, his tone flat.</p><p>Joe scratches the back of his head. It’s hard to wrap his mind around a secret mermaid society, but hey, he’s seen George’s fish tail, so who is he to debate the complexities of a reality he though he knew everything about?</p><p>“So… You left alone?” he asks when George does not add anything for a while.</p><p>George shakes his head.</p><p>“No. We were splitting up, groups and families kind of drifted apart. A few days ago, I decided to leave my group because…”</p><p>He laughs. The sudden change of tone makes Joe frown. What now?</p><p>“I left because I had a <em>dream</em>. About you,” finally says George, sighing.</p><p>Joe blinks. “What?”</p><p>George shrugs. “Yeah, man. Don’t know what to tell you. Sometimes we dream and those dreams become a reality. Sometimes not. I just saw your face in a dream and knew I had to get to you by any way possible.”</p><p>Joe stands up, his shoes sliding in the mud when he steps back from the rocks. His heart beats fast in his chest as he fights off flashes of his own dreams, full of drowning anxiety and hands pulling him down towards the abyss.</p><p>“Y-You’re telling me… You had a <em>dream</em> about me… And you just, what, fucking left your family to come find me? A perfect stranger? Why?”</p><p>For the first time since they’ve started talking, George looks at him. Joe wishes he did not, because his eyes are angry and sharp, dangerous like a piece of broken glass, reflecting the oncoming storm.</p><p>“I don’t know, honestly. I just think our paths had to cross. I’m here to help, but I don’t know why exactly.”</p><p>Joe turns away from George’s face. It is too intense, too open for him to think about anything else. What do the old stories say? That mermaids come to charm you and then lure you away, eating your heart and flesh at the bottom of the ocean?</p><p>Yet Joe knows himself, and knows that George and his damn smile, humour, soft, brown eyes and delicate skin got closer to him in a few days than any of the other people in the town. That George easily integrated himself in his life in such a short period of time, and that if Joe was not so keen on destroying his own happiness, he would know what his heart is trying to tell him from the beginning.</p><p>Still not looking at George, Joe asks “What was the dream about?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The dream… You said you dreamed of me… What was it about?” repeats Joe, gritting his teeth.</p><p>“Oh. Uhm. You were drowning. You fell off a boat and drowned. In the dream, I grabbed you and saved you.”</p><p>Joe snaps his head towards George, his heart now stuck in his throat.</p><p>“Y-You <em>what</em>?” he whispers, feeling his knees buckle.</p><p>His vision blurs. He had… All those nights… His own recurring dream, all this time…</p><p>“Are you okay? Joe, you’re all pale, don’t pass out on me now,” says George, forcing a smile.</p><p>Joe sits back down on the rocks. George’s hand land on his good knee, patting for reassurance.</p><p>“Hey, it’s just a stupid dream,” he says, while Joe tries to recover.</p><p>“Now that you know the truth, can we agree to work together so that you… You know, actually, don’t drown?”</p><p>Joe nods. George smiles, this time a real, honest smile, and squeezes Joe’s knee.</p><p>“Good. Sorry for the secrets, I felt like… You would not have believed me. I wanted to come to you as a human so that we could get to know each other, but the storm really did knock me out. Guess it’s just my luck that you were there to save me, instead of me saving you, uh?”</p><p>Joe nods again, trying to smile back to George, but as soon as he focuses on the other man’s face, he feels dizzy, like George’s smile would swallow him whole, and Joe would gladly let him without question.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p>Around five, they hear a knock on the door. Babe has come to work, arms full of snacks. Joe lets him in, refreshing the younger man’s memory as to what to do if the light starts acting out. He keeps talking and repeating himself, all the while Babe nods and reassures him that everything will be fine. George practically has to drag him out of the house, as Babe bursts out laughing and jokes around with George about Joe acting like an anxious mother.</p><p>They finally leave, this time in Joe’s car, a beat-up Jeep he bought from Carwood when he got his first paycheck. The stormy weather from earlier has not let up, and Joe does not want to have to walk under the rain if he can help it.</p><p>The drive over is silent, Joe and George respectively lost in thoughts. Joe keeps stealing glances at George, who put on some new clothes for the occasion, and looks… quite handsome, if Joe’s honest with himself.</p><p>George comes out of his shell and finally comments on the rain as they park. It’s a small attempt at conversation, but Joe’s relieved, jumping on the occasion to start talking about the area’s constant bad weather, leading them into the restaurant.</p><p>Joe feels like somehow, George and himself are even closer now, sharing secrets and agreeing that they are together in this, whatever <em>it</em> is. Joe still does not know why he accepted George’s story so easily, but the fact that he dreamed about him for months before George showed up gives him a clue as to why he is not freaking out, as small and ridiculous the clue turns out to be.</p><p>Joe never would have thought he would be one to believe in the power of dreams. He never even reads his own horoscope, for god’s sake.</p><p>Harry’s restaurant is named <em>Catherine</em>, after his wife’s name, of course. Joe has heard time and time again the stories: how they met, the wedding day and so on, so many times now that he could recite them all by heart. Kitty is the hostess and other half of the ownership duo, and she welcomes them in the restaurant warmly as they walk in.</p><p>They are shown to Joe’s usual table, overlooking the ocean. The fog makes it hard to see, but the lighthouse’s presence casts a light every so often on the enormous waves crashing around their little haven.</p><p>“Man, it’s been so long since I’ve been to a real restaurant! Everything looks very good,” comments George, eyeing the menu.</p><p>“You should get the lobster, it’s delicious,” says Joe, flipping through the pages.</p><p>George grins and orders the lobster. Joe goes for the grilled salmon, always a treat to his taste buds.</p><p>“So, what else you’ve been missing since you came out for air?” asks Joe, now very curious.</p><p>“Basically, the last four years in terms of television and films, I guess. Is Brad and Angelina still a thing?” George asks, eating away his lobster.</p><p>“You should ask Babe when we come back, I feel like he’s more equipped to answer you than me,” Joe says, huffing a laugh.</p><p>“Mmh. I missed a lot of things, but honestly, what I miss the most is looking at the stars,” George says, and it’s such an honest answer, Joe has to look up from his plate to see if George is messing with him.</p><p>He is not.</p><p>“The stars?”</p><p>“Yeah. Back home, we don’t come up very often. And with the weather here… Almost impossible to see behind all the clouds.”</p><p>Joe nods. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Hey, so if you’ve been under for the last four years, you haven’t seen the new Spiderman?”</p><p>George almost chokes.</p><p>“There’s <em>another</em> one?” he exclaims, throwing his arms towards the ceiling.</p><p>Joe bursts out laughing.</p><p>The rest of the evening is… fun. Joe does not remember the last time he had this much fun. They discuss the many spidermen, then debate about the superhero genre as a whole. George is appalled to learn that he missed about ten Marvel and DC movies, and insists on watching them as soon as they get home.</p><p>Joe catches himself <em>almost</em> forgetting. He almost forgets that George is not completely human, that he is missing a leg and that his life is very terrible. Funny how easy it is to forget all his worries when George is smiling at him, warm and nice and <em>normal</em>.</p><p>Talking and joking with George, ordering wine and chatting away about nothing important with George makes Joe realize that he hadn’t done that in years. Maybe it’s true, maybe he is lonely. Maybe he <em>is</em> trying very hard to push people away, constantly refusing help and friendships left and right.</p><p>He remembers what his therapist had said to him, about how he needed to surround himself with people he could trust. Joe did let himself be surrounded by all the people from town, but never let them truly close. Weirdly enough, Joe thinks that it took a <em>merman</em> to break down his defences. Funny how it works, how nothing in life can be predictable, and all Joe could do was watch the light turn and wait for his life to start.</p><p>Well, he is tired of waiting and if George does not stop smiling at him like he does, Joe will have to act sooner than he anticipated.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>When they finally get out of the restaurant, after loudly complimenting the chef more than once to make Harry blush, the rain has stopped. They climb into the car, still laughing and teasing.</p><p>“That was a good meal, I’m stuffed,” says George, patting his stomach.</p><p>“Yeah, it was,” says Joe, suddenly remembering something and turning left instead of right at the next light.</p><p>“Uhm… Joe, the lighthouse is that way,” George points when he feels the car moving away from the tower.</p><p>“I know, I have to show you something,” Joe says, looking straight ahead.</p><p>The car roars as Joe makes it take a harsh slope, pushing the motor until they take a side road, the town disappearing into the review mirror. Soon, they are surrounded by a tall forest. Joe can spot hiking trails weaving between the trees.</p><p>“Joe, if you wanted to murder me, you should have done so before the meal, I’m going to be too heavy for you to carry me,” jokes George, looking around.</p><p>The asphalt suddenly gives way to dirt, and as Joe takes a sharp left turn, George lets out a gasp.</p><p>There, in front of them, the whole town below, twinkling lights and all. Joe has taken them to the observatory point, halfway through the small mountain chain that borders the coast. George gets out of the car, and Joe follows him, killing the engine.</p><p>“Woha, Joe, that’s… beautiful,” whispers George, grinning.</p><p>Joe nods. “Yeah, it’s where most of the hiking trails lead. I love that spot, and since you wanted to see the stars…”</p><p>George looks up, and laughs.</p><p>“Hey, not too bad,” he says, as the rain clouds slowly drift away, revealing stars that twinkle as much as the lights of the town.</p><p>Joe walks over and leans on the hood, motioning for George to do the same. Their shoulders brush as they look everywhere, drinking it all in.</p><p>“It’s gorgeous, you must be up there all the time,” whispers George in the darkness.</p><p>Joe can’t quite make out his expression in the darkness. “Actually, no, I’m… Always working in the lighthouse, or on my fishing boat. I haven’t been up there since… A few weeks, actually.”</p><p>George hums and turns back to the sky.</p><p>“I wanted to say thank you, by the way,” George says after a moment. “I know that it must be hard for you, to have your life all turned around because of me, so… Thank you for everything.”</p><p>Joe grumbles. “No problem.”</p><p>They stay in silence for a while longer, looking upon the town’s quiet streets, their hands so close, Joe can feel the warmth coming from George’s fingers on his own.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>****</p><p>They get home and Babe is still there, reading and snacking away as the light turns and turns. They send him home and get ready for the rest of the night shift, George insisting in watching at least on the new Marvel movies he missed out.</p><p>When Joe comes down from the tower around four in the morning, George is fast asleep in front of the third Iron Man, snoring as Robert Downer Junior saves people falling from the sky. He looks peaceful, lying on his back, his feet barely touching the arm rest, his hands folded up on his chest.</p><p>Joe grins. Silently, he turns off the television and the lights, wraps a blanket around George and gets ready himself for sleep.</p><p>This time, when he dreams, he lets the hands drag him down without a fight. He can see the stars through the surface, winking at him as he dives deeper and deeper into the coldness of the ocean.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Life is... chaotic to say the least, but I'm glad I managed to update the story! I hope you liked this chapter, it is VERY self indulgent!!!! Kudos and comments make my day :) Thank you for sticking with me and reading my story!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments and kudos water my crops and clear my skin! Thank you for reading! (You can find me on tumblr at jim-bones-spock)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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